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Laurie Stoelting
Linda Jeannette Ward
Patricia Machmiller
Karma Tenzing Wangchuk
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More Tributes to Kay F. Anderson
Once upon a time I was getting ready for my first Two Autumns (as a reader.)
I had written a poem — It pleased me, and yet . . .
seatbelt tightened
each tremor from the road
against my chest
I thought there was more to it, but what? At my limits, I turned to Kay
(who was editing the book from that Two Autumns reading).
“Through me.” was all she said.
The earth fell away. “What is that?” said I.
“Zen” said Kay.
seatbelt tightened —
each tremor from the road
through me
Thank you Kay, — Laurie Stoelting
Kay Anderson was a dear friend. I want to share with you a tanka that Kay
wrote, which I regard as her “death poem.” I know The Heron’s
Nest is only for haiku, but I wonder if you might consider this as an
exception. (Yes Linda, we sure will.)
when my whole note
and the universe are ready
there will be a tap
on my shoulder — and my song
shall fly beyond me
— Kay Anderson (Red Lights: Vol. 2, No. 2, June 2006)
Maui sunrise
through a crack of stone
a new pine
— Linda Jeannette Ward
The Gifts of Kay Anderson
(a haibun by Kay Anderson and Patricia J. Machmiller)
1993 — It was my first “real” haiku reading
— the annual Two Autumns event sponsored by the Haiku Poets
of Northern California. One of the other readers was that dynamic and
exuberant, that unforgettable Kay Anderson. She made the reading a stellar show.
the red-tailed hawk
riding
Indian summer haze
This was her way. Since that time, over the years I have attended almost
every Two Autumns reading. Her second reading stands out in my mind as among
the best. She is there in flowing turquoise; each haiku is delivered with
eloquence, like a gift to the audience, specially wrapped.
between crutches
one leg and his knee stump
into the surf!
I think it was after she had been diagnosed with melanoma that she learned
of Kiyoko Tokutomi’s descent into Alzheimer’s. Even though her
own battle demanded 110% of her concentration and energy, she reached out
and arranged for a jinjitsu session for Kiyoko (literally “Human Day,”
which includes “the feast of seven herbs,” from the custom of
eating seven-herb to ensure good health for the coming year). Not that
jinjitsu would heal Kiyoko’s tangled mind, but that through her body,
she could receive solace, love, and above all, grace. It was a unique and
very thoughtful gift.
rainy day —
sharing my bread
with a peg-leg grackle
This is the Kay I know — the one who lives life to the
fullest, who gives herself wholly, and who adds zest to the soul, hers
and to all she comes in contact with.
on the wrong train —
nose against the window
laughing
And even though she has transitioned to a new state, her presence is still vividly felt, her voice still distinctly heard in her haiku.
blossoming almonds —
the valley where she lived
the valley where she has gone
— Patricia Machmiller
[Note: all the haiku in this haibun except the last are Kay Anderson’s
from Morning Snow, Two Autumns Press, 1993.]
Spring Moon —
this year, one more star
in the Milky Way
— Karma Tenzing Wangchuk
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